Instead of growing organically out of the working-class Philadelphia neigbourhood of the title, the debut feature from Mad Men's John Slattery never gets beyond looking down its nose at its thinly drawn characters.

Adapted by Slattery and Alex Metcalf from the novel by Pete Dexter, Philip Seymour Hoffman plays Mickey, a two-bit thief who is unaccountably married to a beautiful wife (Christina Hendricks).

The film opens with the funeral of their son Leon (Caleb Landry Jones) and the first of many punches to the nose. After a bit of platitudinous narration from hard-drinking newspaper columnist Richard (Richard Jenkins) - who features in an inexplicable sexual subplot - we track back three days to see what happened.

What emerges are shenanigans with no substance, as Leon's mum tries to find out the truth behind his death, while Mickey becomes trapped in a subplot involving his son's body that is unaccountably played for laughs. All the while, we are encouraged to find these people stupidly brutal or comedic without being given the slightest idea as to why they might be that way.

Rounding out the cast are John Turturro as another petty crook, Eddie Marsan as a misanthropic funeral home director who seems to like brawling for brawling's sake and a host of other fine actors who are wasted on this material. Despite being well-shot by Lance Accord, this pocket is empty.